Ace in the Hole
by Nathan Silver
Summary: Set alongside the end of Season 1 of The Gifted, introduces Gambit as he awakens in the mutant detention facility Neverland. How will he escape the clutches of the Essex Corporation and just why is he there, to begin with? Rated for freedom of language and violence. I don't own anything but the words and have no intention to sell. Chapter 5 added!
1. Chapter 1

Neverland. It was a far cry from the magical place in the famous children's story. There were no pirates, or mermaids, or Lost Boys, and Remy LeBeau was a far cry from Peter Pan.

Known as Gambit to some, Remy was a mutant; born with abilities that set him apart from the rest of society. Never quite accepted into the world, a world that hated and feared his kind and because of that fear a mutant who, like countless others, was hunted down and sent away to Neverland.

No, it wasn't anything like the storybook. Considered by many to be the mutant equivalent of Auschwitz, Neverland was the last stop for many after being captured by Sentinel Services and rarely mentioned out loud.

Its reputation was one of mystery and horror. And Gambit was getting a first-hand account.

His neck was stiff and the space behind his eyes beat like a steel drum after his run-in with the Marauders in Seattle. They were mutant thugs who had been set on his trail after Sentinel Services had their fill of getting bettered by the thief from New Orleans. While Gambit had little issues with the authorities though, the Marauders had proven too much for him. Especially Creed.

That man was a monster. A rabid mountain lion stuffed into the skin of a man. He enjoyed inflicting pain; he reveled in the kill and he was the one leading the charge like a starved bloodhound on a fox hunt.

It didn't take much for Gambit to realize he was outmatched and he'd surrendered to the others he had in tow, if nothing else, to deny Creed of the morbid satisfaction of more bloodshed.

Gambit winced, partly from the pain in his forehead, but also from the memory of not learning his lesson fast enough. He shook the thought away almost as quickly as it formed and approached the dull, iron bars.

He couldn't see much from his vantage point but what little he did was enough to set his expectations nice and low. It had a grey on grey concrete colour scheme, complete with its fair share of flickering neon lights, bars, and armed guards. The air was stale, but carried the faint trace of decay, a sickly sweet aroma that was unmistakable.

The thief panned his head from side to side and frowned. Among the many troubling details was something that stood out by its absence. It took him a minute longer than it should have.

Noise. Or rather, the lack of it.

There were several captives in his vicinity, he could see them huddled in a few of the cells across from his own, but unlike a prison, no one spoke. No one so much as whispered.

It was a pervasive silence so unnerving that a chill crept up his spine like a thousand icy spiders. Even the guards observed it. It was a palpable and choking quiet and he did everything he could to play along.

A figure stomped along, headed in his direction, he had no doubt. Gambit looked up and around and in the back corner of his ten-by-ten cell and mounted into the ceiling was a small aperture with a dark, dome-shaped cover. A camera and they'd no doubt been alerted when he woke up.

The guard didn't waste any energy and appeared from just out of view around the corner. He looked like your average gun-toting security goon in unmarked camouflage fatigues. No rank; no insignia of any kind.

Gambit had always been quick to fire back at a foe with wit with a lesser-faire attitude but his snappy retort barely had a chance to pass his lips. A white-hot needle of debilitating pain burrowed right into his brain. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't even blink as his muscles all contorted with a single gut twisting spasm. He was frozen in that agonizing moment and stared back at his captor.

The guard smiled; finger on a handheld remote.

When his thumb finally raised, the pain subsided and Gambit gasped, freed at once from the terrible claw that had threatened to stop his heart. Given a moment of relief and he threw his hands to his neck to claw at the ring that was securely locked around his throat; a collar that had seconds before sent an electric current through his skull.

A collar, like he was some kind of animal.

Cold defiance bled away into seething anger and Gambit thrust his hand into his beat-up brown duster into a pocket in the lining. In flash of movement, it reappeared with a playing card pinched between his fingers. The guard didn't flinch. He kept that vulture's smile on his stone-cold face, but no punishment followed.

Gambit's red and black eyes darted from the man in the blank uniform to the worthless ten of diamonds that he brandished like a weapon. Gambit, born with the otherworldly ability to manipulate and convert the potential energy of an object into kinetic energy, had been rendered powerless; and all he could do at that moment, face to face with his tormentor, was fall to his knees and accept his fate like a whipped dog.

He didn't notice the guard leaving and after who knows how long, he finally willed himself to move. Slowly, Gambit slid himself to the back of the cell and propped his back up against the wall with his arms stretched out over his knees while his mind was hard at work.

His gaze burned into the card that lay on the floor. He didn't realize it at first, but his jaw had been clenched hard through that ordeal. His teeth ached and he absentmindedly rubbed at his jaw.

Footsteps. Gambit narrowed his demonic eyes as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The footfalls were distinct and sharper than the heavy, padded steps of the combat boots. It was the clacking of harder soles. Dress shoes.

The wearer was still out of sight but they approached with a speedy gait, alone.

Gambit stroked the darkening patch of stubble on his chin again, then slid out of his jacket to cool off. With care, he bundled up his trench coat and set it next to him on the floor, then passed his fingers quickly through the sweat-streaked cheek-length hair that had tumbled in front of his eyes.

 _Let's see who we got to thank for such warm hospitality_ , he thought, and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey all! Thanks for checking out this story. Over time it will weave into the series The Gifted more and more, but it will focus on either characters not present in the show, or else only present in a limited fashion. 

* * *

Seattle. Then.

Sheets of rain slapped the tiled balcony in a soft roar, washing away the thinning pools of crimson at Remy's feet. The mutant thief known as Gambit wished over and over that the hammering downpour would take his grief away as easily, but it never did.

He hunched forward on the edge of the chair, braced by his elbows as he looked out over the railing at the city through the slate haze that the northwest weather threw down from the heavens. The sky darkened more and more with each passing minute - a fitting match to his mood - but even the chill of the impending night against the man's bare arms and face did little to ward the Louisiana native away and inside the penthouse where it was warm and dry.

Inside was not safe. Inside was a reminder of what had happened; what he'd done. He was responsible for the blood, even if it wasn't his hand that had carved into the woman - Genevieve - and taken her life. Her name was Genevieve. Because of him, her life had been snuffed out. He was at fault, even though the fingers that scrawled that bloody message on the beige carpet hadn't been his.

He had brought Victor Creed into her home.

"Ain' no words I can say, gonna make things right," he said through a gravely Cajun drawl; and he dared a glance to the right, over at the still form hidden beneath a sopping wet brown trench coat. "You deserved much better than this, p'tit. _Bien sur_."

His brow furrowed and he forced himself to his feet. He didn't want to disturb her now after so much of a violation and he inhaled sharply through his teeth as he took one step, then another. He was beside her prone shape and with the speed and accuracy of a praying mantis, snatched the coat that blanketed her and disappeared inside in a leap.

He didn't dare to look back, to linger on that madman's brutal artistry. He needed to leave and stay away. Never to dare taint her world again, even in death. Especially in death. He didn't have much to take with him and everything he owned fit snug into the pockets of his black cargo pants. In less than five minutes his life was excised from the dead woman's apartment.

Almost. His boots left dirty prints, tracked mercilessly across the carpet; Aimless... Careless. He grimaced.

There was little he could do and after a moment spent to contemplate his future he nodded to no one in particular and hastily approached a slanted picture on the wall. The artist of the masterpiece didn't matter. It was a worthless print that hid something of much greater value and without care, Gambit pulled it down and tossed the frame aside. The wall safe was locked of course, but he'd put in the effort to learn the combination almost a week before when Genevieve had first invited him home from the bar.

He had been a gentleman and offered to sleep on the couch. He was down on his luck just having moved from California.

That's what he had said anyway, but she had trusted him enough to invite him to stay for a few days more until he got a foothold in Seattle. She'd even lent him a spare key and let him come and go as he pleased. They hadn't even kissed. He didn't dare let himself get attached.

She was a mark and a good thief never to let himself get involved with a mark.

The safe popped open and Gambit did what he had originally planned and extracted the contents from the unlit interior. There was enough cash to keep him going for a while and he tucked it away in his pockets, but everything else went back in the safe. He may have intended to raid it all in the beginning, but he was out of time and the idea of taking any of it now, after everything that happened made him feel sick to his stomach.

He barely managed to turn toward the door when a massive shock wave shattered it into wood splinters and threw him off his feet. He grunted as he landed and through the rain of debris he caught sight of the intruder through his tunneling vision. Cropped purple hair and a silver suit and tie and Gambit recognized her from Creed's gang of marauders.

Gambit rolled to his feet and his fingers made contact with a palm-sized shard from the door. He didn't have much time as his attacker primed her hands, ready to clap them together again and let loose another volley. He excited the molecules in the wood with a flash of his mutant ability, often used to make something explode, but that was not is aim - and his aim was true. He released his grip on the shard and without barely a nudge it whizzed from his hand, cutting through the air and striking the woman in the palm.

The silver-clad assailant howled in pain and the delay bought Gambit precious seconds to maneuver.

"Arclight!" Another female voice called out; deep and husky ad dashed forward. She sported a shirt with a spiral pattern and unlike her compatriot, Gambit knew this one. Her name was Vertigo - a name that was painfully self-explanatory.

There was a dull hum the rippled outward from where she held a defensive stance and the ground suddenly rushed up toward Gambit's face. He couldn't make it to his feet - he could barely even crawl - as Vertigo assaulted his equilibrium and utterly destroyed his sense of balance.

"Take him, but don't break him," Vertigo ordered; a final command that Arclight obeyed, even with a jagged piece of wood protruding from her hand. She stalked forward and carefully gave Gambit a tap on his forehead.

There was a flash of light and then everything went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Neverland. Now

The two men spent an uncomfortable amount of time in silence on either side of the bars. Inside the cell, Gambit had pushed himself as far back as he could, seated on the cold concrete. The red irises of his midnight black eyes burned a hole into his visitor on the other side; a man in a black suit in desperate need of sunshine.

The man was tall and thin - probably taller than his own six-two - and his slicked-back dark hair and sunken cheeks lent to an overall sinister appearance. He gave Remy the creeps, to put it mildly.

Then again, it was hard to be on edge as his head throbbed and hadn't let up since he'd arrived several hours before."I suppose I got you t'thank for bein' in here, yeah?" Gambit's voice was hushed and his throat felt raw.

His captor didn't seem to care as he stood with squared shoulders, like a black-clad statue. The flicker of the overhead lights glinted off a red diamond pin tacked to his tie. He interrupted his inactivity and straightened it with thin fingers on the knot at his throat and returned his hands to their starting position, clasped behind his back. "It's taken no small effort on our part to bring you in," he hissed. Steel coloured eyes locked onto Gambit's, never blinking...never looking away. "We'll assess your powers soon, but I'm confident that you'll have much to offer."

He spoke with the intonation of a 007 movie villain. Gambit smirked. "And just who might you be, to say so?"

"Nathaniel Essex," he said and raised an eyebrow. "I catalogue genetic mutations and...well, it's not important to tell you. Not until I fully assess your genetic potential. Though, I seem to have already confirmed at least one of your abilities."

Gambit's head was against the wall and he tilted it lightly to one side. "Oh? You haven't even bought me dinner, yet."

Essex chuckled and tapped a finger against his temple and for the briefest instant Gambit could swear a red diamond had flashed to life on the man's forehead right between his eyes. As soon as it had appeared, it vanished.

Essex moved one pace closer to the bars and a shadow fell across his face and filled it in like a skull. "I normally have no issues slipping inside a mind, but you..." His voice took on a sharp, metallic quality and he pointed a finger at Gambit and wagged it in the air. "There's a kind of static around you." The man backed away and finally shrugged. "Well, it's either that or there simply aren't any thoughts swirling around in there."

"Ya got me, monsieur." Gambit's voice was thick with sarcasm. "You figured out my mutant ability. I'll be on my way since it don't seem like I got anything else I can offer you, or your research."

Mr. Essex turned away and his dress shoes scraped lightly across the concrete. "You'd better hope you have something more interesting to show, or else I have no reason to keep you alive." He passed one final glance in Gambit's direction. "Sentinel Services and the MRD signed you over to me and as a mutant, you have no rights to speak of. I own you. I alone decide what happens to you."

Gambit narrowed his eyes, following the wraith as he disappeared from view. He'd have to bump up his timeline, or risk following the path of so many others before him. He'd heard of Neverland and the rumours and had no intention of becoming another statistic.

His fingers probed his pant pockets and patted down his jacket and a feeble pile of odds and ends were gathered on the floor between his legs. He took a mental inventory and grimaced. A book of matches and a rumpled pack of cigarettes; two decks of playing cards; and the money he'd taken from the penthouse were all he'd retrieved. Everything else he'd had on him was conveniently missing, including the set of his tools he'd hidden inside his wallet.

He slumped his head back while he worked the problem and a cigarette eased its way to his lips, met almost immediately by the spark and flash of a match-flame. He drew in the puff and closed his eyes. They'd been thorough with a search.

Or had they been?

The bottom hem of his trench coat drew his attention and he groped along the bottom hem until he felt the small object in the lining. It didn't take him long, but he worked it through to a small hole and the paperclip fell into his palm.

He cast his gaze upward to the camera in the corner and winked, flashing a sly grin. The angle was severe enough, that while the camera could watch him no matter where he sat, his body blocked his right side from view. Gambit made a show and kicked his feet forward, stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. He joined his hands up behind his neck to cushion his head against the wall and let his eyelids droop shut.

At least, that's what it looked like.

Gambit was no stranger to confinement, though it rarely lasted so long. He grew up in New Orleans as part of the Guild of Thieves and his childhood was spent in rigorous training for a life of larceny and escape. That he was a mutant, had been irrelevant. Trapped in a cell with a suppression collar that shocked him at the push of a button was no different.

The paper clip was his ticket out of there - or at least the first step and he worked it into place in the collar that was snug around his neck. It didn't take him long and his timing couldn't have been better. More footfalls alerted him to a new visitor; one he supposed would cart him away for whatever test Mr. Essex had in mind.

It was the hulking Victor Creed and the crazed monster contorted his face in a twisted caricature of a smile; pointed teeth barred like a hungry animal. "Evenin' swamp rat," he snarled. "I'm gonna enjoy tearin' your fuckin' arms off." 


	4. Chapter 4

Georgia. Then.

Gambit let out a faint whistle as he stood in the spacious foyer, hands in the pockets of his brown duster. The spotless plaster walls were decorated with art of both the cheap and priceless varieties and the tiled floor glinted under the bright sunlight that washed in through the large bay windows.

 _They'd done some recent decorating,_ he figured.

At one time it was a satellite location for the Hellfire Club, but that was back before the X-Men and the Brotherhood went head to head. Even the last time Gambit had set foot inside the estate, the walls had been bare; a testament to the crumbled status of the Club's Inner Circle. Something had surely changed and the prospect piqued the thief's interest.

A young blonde sauntered briskly in through a set of wooden french doors and he immediately spun and moved to greet her. "Afternoon, chere."

She halted on the checkered tile and her hands clamped to her hips as she raised an eyebrow, while her lips pressed tightly into a thin line.

Gambit had dealt with her before and so enjoyed knocking her just a little bit off guard. "Don't you look wonderful. You do somethin' new with your hair?"

Her mouth twisted up into a grin, but her face conveyed all the warmth of Alaska in December. "Mister LeBeau."

"Gambit, if you don' mind. It's Sophie, right?" His voice was a deep purr and he gently took her hand up in his and brushed it, just barely to past his mouth in a faux kiss. "Unless you'd prefer call me Remy."

"Esme," she bit back and wrenched her fingers from his grasp. "And we know all about you and your charm. This is business. It isn't a pleasure call."

The Cajun chuckled. "Now, p'tite. What's business without a little pleasure mixed in? What can I do for one of the Frost sisters?"

She waved the man through the double-doors into the parlor and each of them settled into a seat on either side of a low glass table. Once she'd crossed one slender leg over the other, Esme snatched a tablet from the surface of the table, flicked her pointed finger across the screen in a series of quick, brutal swipes and when she seemed satisfied, turned it over to the thief.

"Gambit," she stated with a chilled edge, "his name is Victor Creed. Goes by Sabertooth. He used to be a member of the Brotherhood back when Magneto was still around, but now he's working for Nathaniel Essex and our people have managed to link them both to the disappearance or murder of a number of mutants."

The grainy black and white images on the tablet looked like they'd been pulled from CCTV cameras. No simple feat, to be sure, Gambit mused. Whoever had moved into the old Hellfire estate had technological muscle that they were flexing and probably the money to back it up.

It made the prospect much more interesting, even as he stared down at the still shot of the bruiser of a man, the size, and build of a professional wrestler, with a wild mane of hair, and squeezed into an expensive looking suit. Whatever the reason, Creed looked equally connected.

Gambit shrugged and set the device on the table and leaned back in his chair. "What's he to you?"

Esme tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "What do you know about Neverland?"

"Second star to the right and straight on 'til mornin'," he quipped.

The woman scowled. "Are you interested in a job, or not?"

Gambit raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Bad place. Mutants go in and they're never heard from again."

His hostess nodded curtly and she clasped her hands together in her lap. "We have reason to believe that the Mutant Response Division is contracting the Essex Corporation parallel to Sentinel Services. We don't know why, but that's where you come in."

"What d'you got in mind, p'tite?"

Esme grinned and cocked her head to one side. "You're going to break in."


	5. Chapter 5

Neverland. Now.

"Let's see if you're any more fun than that frail of yours." A sickening wave of rotting meat wafted from the towering shadow that loomed at the bars of the cell. Sabertooth - Victor Creed - peered inside with oily, shark-like eyes and a hyena's grin of menacing teeth. "Time to have some fun, you an' me."

The murderer didn't blink, but Gambit fought hard to keep his composure. He wanted to pull his eyes out for what he did; the barest fraction of the hurt that he wanted to inflict on him in retribution for Genevieve, the poor soul whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Creed hadn't only killed her, he'd made her suffer and then scrawled a message in her blood for Gambit to find.

He had let out a primal and soul-wrenching scream when he'd returned to the penthouse; victimized by his own guilt, but he'd never give Sabertooth the satisfaction of knowing. He'd play the part he'd spent his life perfecting: that of the loner without a care in the world.

"Some fun, you say, _homme_?" He finally said with a dash of sarcasm. "They're gonna let you on the swing set? Maybe a touch too big for the teeter-totter."

The animal in a man's suit roared and strings of frothy spittle flew from his jaws.

 _Good job, Remy_ , he thought. _Make the monster angry_.

Creed broke into a slow chuckle and flexed his claw-like fingers. The knuckles popped, one after another like gunfire. "Bring along anything you'd like to be buried with, LeBeau. Promise I'll make it quick."

Gambit took his time moving to his feet and eased himself back into his long coat, certain to return everything to his pockets as he did. He sauntered to the bars but he kept himself outside of Creed's reach. " _ _Après vous."__

Two armed guards marched into view. They had been outside of his field of vision. Without a word one of them stepped forward and with a heavy iron key, unlocked the cell door and moved aside to let their prisoner pass.

Gambit tread slowly. His burning red eyes flicked between the uniformed men and an uneasiness festered in his stomach. The more he stared, the truer it became: the two men were identical, from the spacing of their eyes to their piggish noses. They carried themselves the same, even.

One of the twins led the way and Sabertooth took up a position beside the thief as they trudged at a snail's pace through the prison. Gambit stole a glance to some of the captives; a sporadic few, but present none-the-less. Mostly nondescript, save for the brunette with a shock of white hair. She met his gaze and the misery and loneliness she exuded were palpable.

The group ushered the thief through a pair of grand doors into a sand-filled arena, half the size of a football pitch. Creed entered with him, but the guards hung back and when the two men had cleared the entryway, swung the massive metal doors to a close.

Twelve-foot metal walls were crudely welded together around the perimeter and above them beyond the mesh fence of a ceiling on the far side was a grand dais. Essex occupied the throne-like seat dressed as some kind of vampire-monarch; black-clad with a red diamond glowing brightly in the centre of his leather-bound chest.

"Welcome, LeBeau," Essex boomed through a loudspeaker, "I implore you to impress me. If you can. Your collar won't stand in your way."

Sabertooth circled away from him slowly and spread his arms out to either side. His teeth were barred like a feral beast and he bent forward, ready to pounce.

Gambit's black and red eyes relaxed into thin slits and in spite of the anxiety that built up inside and the hammering thud-thud of his heart, he forced his breathing under control.

Creed dashed forward with his fingers splayed like deadly talons and the Cajun lunged to the right and dipped low to the ground. He dragged his hand through the sand, let his mutant ability flash to life with a burst of orange energy, then spun back just as his pursuer barreled past him. When Sabertooth turned back to him and growled, Gambit swung his arm in a long arc and opened his hand. Sand, like hot sparks, seared through the air and rained across Creed's torso and face and burst in a rapid-fire crackle.

Creed slapped a heavy, clawed palm to his face and roared again, thrust his other arm forward and swiped to the right and left. He lowered a hand and blinked furiously, his reddened eyes staring at nothing. Then he froze.

Gambit backed away and watched him carefully. The larger man had his head tilted and he sniffed at the air. Then he smiled. "Gotcha!"

Sabertooth, even blinded, leaped with deadly accuracy and Gambit barely managed to stumble backward in time. Creed corrected his path in a blur of movement and shoulder-checked him in the gut and the wind blasted out of his lungs. It felt like a wrecking ball and the momentum flung him off of his feet and launched him several meters.

His foot scraped through the top layer of sand and regained traction. Gambit used the opportunity to kick himself up and over the much heftier attacker as he crashed past like a runaway train. Gambit twisted in the air and his hand disappeared into the folds of his duster as he landed the gymnastic maneuver. "Not good enough, brute!"

Sabertooth snarled and erupted in a flurry of slashing claws and Gambit let fly the first volley from his coat - playing cards charged with kinetic energy. They cut the air in bolts of orange; sizzled as they went and exploded with the fury and flash of a hand-grenade. The bruiser roared and another blast forced him off his feet, then another. The detonations echoed wildly, smoke choked the target zone and Gambit kept up the assault with another short series of whizz-bangs from his jacket pocket. His jaw was set and his flaring red eyes narrowed as he zipped forward.

Somewhere back behind him, someone clapped, probably Essex.

Gambit skidded to a stop, scarcely more than a meter from the thick of the white, caustic cloud; panting deeply. "Bang," he said. "You-" but the words trailed off as the smoke burst open and Creed, all teeth, and sharp appendages, threw himself at the Cajun. He dropped his weight, but Sabertooth was too close and too fast and Gambit was too late. A vice of flesh and bone clamped around his throat and ripped him away from the ground and cast him to the side like a discarded chew toy.

The ground rushed up to meet him and he shielded his face and he carved a shallow channel in the sand with his forearms. Gambit shuffled onto his back with a grunt.

Creed stalked toward him, hunched low..angry..a wild _beast_. His body was a patchwork of blast marks and charred flesh and as Gambit looked on, the wounds softened and faded away.

"Stop!" Essex boomed over the loudspeakers. Sabertooth whipped his head around at the man on the throne with his arms out to either side questioningly.

Gambit let out a breath in a muted huff and slumped backward. His vision blurred and Darkness enveloped him.


End file.
